


Tremors

by thelostcolony



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: F/M, Insanity, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Violence, POV Second Person, Poem-esque, but not as bad as you'd think I promise, guilt complex, inferred anxiety disorders, lots of death, this is kind of intense so please proceed with caution if you're sensitive to these things, trigger warning- death mention, trigger warning- insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostcolony/pseuds/thelostcolony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't move.<br/>You move, he dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremors

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys- so I wrote this for a writer's workshop I have in class, but this actually got very intense and direct very quickly and I thought I'd share it with you guys here. Please proceed with caution and read the tags- if any of these things may trigger you, please be careful. 
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think.

Don’t move.

Don’t move.

Don’t move.

Hands are slippery, fingers are trembling, body is shaking. Don’t move.

Limbs are sprawled out on the pavement, heaving breaths are torn raggedly from sputtering lungs, crimson is coloring the cement. Death is the artist. Don’t move. You move, he dies.

He takes a deep breath- his eyes try to find yours, but they’re seeking, seeking, seeking and not seeing, and you call his name, voice wobbling. Your wet fingers slide against each other as they cluster close, trying to cover the gaping hole in his stomach. Don’t move. You move, he dies.

Don’t move.

Don’t move.

Don’t mo-

Your hands slip.

He dies.

**~oOo~**

Don’t move.

There he is. He stands out as clearly as an inkblot on white canvas; he jumps off the page, into your vision. He looks like a monster, misshapen in the way inkblots often are, like the kind of splatters they use in therapy and doctors in different shades of pity and indulgence ask, _what do you see?_

You see a monster.

Don’t move.

Deep breaths, now.

You have him by the neck- he’s gasping like a beached fish; the whining noise deep in his chest sounds like a starfish sizzling on pavement. You have the power to kill him. You can break his neck, squeeze until his head pops off of his body and he bleeds out onto the pavement.

Deep breath. Don’t move yet. You move, he dies. You move, he dies.

Stay still. Don’t move. Deep breath.

Your hand twitches.

He takes off running.

He lives, and it’s not fair.

**~oOo~**

Don’t move.

You move, he dies.

He’s gazing up at you with heavy lidded eyes, crimson on his lips. Dark splotches of red blossom across his button-up shirt, stain the white fabric. You can’t start over, you can’t scrap the canvas and begin again; there is no again.

Take a deep breath because he can't.

Don’t move.

You move, he dies.

Listen to him- listen to him. You have never listened as intently as you listen now while you watch the stain on his shirt slowly creep outwards. Leave her out of it, he breathes, voice grave, breath raggedly torn from sputtering lungs. Don’t move. You move, he dies.

He holds up the mask, and your hand _joltstwitches_ to take it.

He dies.

**~oOo~**

Don’t move.

You move, she dies.

He’s a monster. He’s a monster, worse than any misshapen inkblot. He’s a monster. He has her by the neck, she’s gasping like a startled bird; her scared eyes are pools of cerulean. He’s cackling, mouth spread into a feral grin, skin tinted a sickly green. He lets her drop and you dive you catch her, swimming through an ocean of stars to catch her mid-fall. Her wings must be broken- she can't move them.

You catch her, hold her as still as you can. She's injured, after all. Her wings are broken.

He cackles once more and dives after you.

Deep breaths, now. Just a little longer.

Keep her steady now. Don't jostle her.

Just don't move for a little longer.

**~oOo~**

Stay still.

For God’s sake, don’t move.

You move, she’s dead.

Hands are slippery, fingers are trembling, body is shaking. Don’t move.

For God’s sake, don’t move.

Limbs are sprawled across the pavement, arms spread like she was trying to catch her wings on a breeze. Her head rolls in the crook of your arm, neck so limp her head could be floating away from her body. Don’t move. For God’s sake, don’t move. You move, she’s dead. She’s sleeping. Her eyes are closed, her eyelashes dark against her porcelain skin. She’s still, frozen in time, glowing like an angel, her arms spread like angel wings. Don’t move.

For God’s sake, don’t move.

Your arms jolt gently and shake her, a sob welling up in your throat, a bubble of desperation popping in your chest.

A trickle of crimson creeps from her nose, stains her perfect, white cheek. It crawls along her skin, colors the canvas of it red, a stain on her, on a beautiful masterpiece.

You moved.

She's-


End file.
